


hope it isn’t me who’s left behind

by paradoxicalShipper



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Inspired by the myth of Chang E, mid-autumn festival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25612903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradoxicalShipper/pseuds/paradoxicalShipper
Summary: Katara makes a mistake. Zuko accidentally creates a new festival.Based on the myth of the Mid-Autumn Festival (Hou Yi and Chang’e) in Chinese culture. For the prompt ‘celestial’, Zutara week 2020 day 4.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25
Collections: Zutara Week 2020





	hope it isn’t me who’s left behind

_ Long ago, a great warrior saved the earth from destruction. As a reward, the spirits granted him the elixir of immortality. However, the warrior wished to share the elixir with his wife, so that they could spend the rest of eternity together on earth. But the warrior's jealous apprentice wished to steal the elixir for himself, and broke into the warrior's house when only his wife was at home. In her panic, the warrior's wife consumed the elixir, and having transformed into a spirit, ascended to the spirit realm. But the spirits rejected her, for the elixir had not been hers to take. She was banished to the surface of the moon, where must she spend all of eternity alone. _

* * *

It's quiet on the moon, Katara thought when the dust is cleared.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She supposed she would have to get used to it, seeing as this was where she was to stay for all eternity.

_ You do not belong here, _ the spirits had boomed when she had tried to enter the spirit world.  _ You have not earned the right to immortality. The spirit world is no place for you, girl. _

But where else can I go? She had begged, for she was no longer of mortal flesh.

From the moment that the spirit water had passed her lips, her body was no longer of the earth. Try as she might, she had floated away, out of reach of Jet and the men who had stolen into her home. Their hands had passed clean through her. 

Katara, in her fright, even tried to reach back, but she had turned into the stuff of spirits. 

The elixir, that was now a part of her, had taken itself to the doors of the spirit realm, from which it came. Only to be barred from entry, because, of course, the elixir of immortality was not Katara's to take.

It was a mistake, Katara had shouted. Let me go back. Take your stupid water back, I only wished for my husband's gift to be safe.

But the spirits had ignored her pleas.  _ You have disobeyed our will, and now you will pay the price. _

So to the cold, empty moon she was banished. It was awfully quiet. 

* * *

All the bandits were dead. Their blood stained Zuko's shoes; he wiped some off of his twin blades as he searched every inch of his house. He refused to listen to what the villagers had told him, when his servant rushed to tell him of the men who had broken into his home. Led by Jet, his own brother-in-arms.

The moon, the villagers had whispered, pointing skyward. There's a lady in the moon.

Nonsense, Zuko had thought. It's the middle of the afternoon. He had rushed back to his home and begun laying waste to the bandits.

But now they were all dead, and his house was empty. His wife, his main priority, was nowhere to be found. Her waterskins had spilled out onto the floor. Evidence of a fight was all over the house. She had clearly taken out a good few of them, despite being caught by surprise and vastly outnumbered. Zuko's heart sank with each room he cleared, seeing more desperation in the trail of destruction.

But eventually his search led him to the bedroom, their sanctuary, and there lay the evidence. The destroyed tapestries, the overturned furniture, the gouges in the floor. The pot of sacred water, empty of its contents, and his wife, missing.

The bedroom had a large window, through which the sky cast a great light upon the room. Zuko finally gave in and looked up. The moon hung lower and brighter than he had ever seen it. And even with his mortal eyes, he could see the outline of a woman now banished to its surface.

Katara, he whispered. Zuko dropped to his knees.

* * *

The spirits were cruel in making Katara’s punishment so simple. 

Being a spirit meant that Katara's body did not suffer the same hungers and desires that it had craved in life. So time passed quickly in that sense –– she never felt the passing of the hours. She did not shiver in the cold air, and her feet left no imprint. But that distance between herself and her humanity made her isolation all the worse, for it was a keen reminder of all she had lost.

Every unnecessary breath she took, she was reminded that this was never what she wanted. That she and her husband had only accepted enough elixir to keep them both alive as mortals, for a life together was all they had ever wanted. She replayed over and over in her head the moment that fear had driven her to take the spirit water herself, to keep the essence of the spirits away from Jet.

He would have used it for evil, she reasoned. He would have become a terror on humanity for the rest of time. He would have turned humanity against itself in his quest for vengeance, and nobody would have been able to stop him. She had done what she had to do to protect the world.

But still, in that moment, she had been filled with fear, fear of losing the future that she and Zuko had dreamed of together. The future where they spent eternity, side-by-side in the world that they had fought to build. A future where they could walk the streets together, taking their time. An impossible, selfish fear, but one that had overwhelmed her so much that she committed an act that felt like insanity. So stupid, so human. 

Not much of her was human now. She would hold on to what was left. 

With her spirit-given sight, she watches over Zuko. She almost turns away, afraid to see his certain grief and anger upon learning what had transpired. But this is the only way that she can be with him. 

So she turns her eyes toward the earth, and watches him.

* * *

Zuko thought he had known grief; he had grieved when his uncle died, when his sister had succumbed to madness. He thought he knew rage; he had had a fiery temper in his youth, and still his temper was a short fuse that he kept a tight hold of.

But this?

In one day, everything he had dreamed of had been ripped away. Every hope he had for his future in this world he had helped to build, gone. The love of his life had been taken, had taken herself away, whether in desperation or in sheer defiance he didn't know.

And worst of all, he could still  _ see _ her. The light of the moon, the brightest moon ever seen, shone ever brighter upon him as night fell on the worst day of his life. She hadn't disappeared entirely, but had been sent to the moon, where her shadow could haunt him forever.

But he would never be able to touch her, and she would never be able to touch him.

This, he thought, was pure torture.

He stared helplessly out the window, where the light of the moon shone on the streets of the village that they had both loved. Multi-colored lanterns were still lit along the streets in celebration of their victory; how little time they'd had.

Katara had loved those lanterns –– seeing them had filled her with simple joy, and Zuko had loved her smile as they walked through the village hand-in-hand. The light of the moon made the lanterns feel especially vibrant, almost magical. At least she could enjoy them from above.

The thought sent Zuko out of the bedroom, finally, past the worried servants gathered outside the door. He stalked to the kitchen, carefully gathering what he needed onto a plate. He returned straight to the windowsill and presented the plate to the moonlight.

Katara's favorite cake, made from lotus paste, purchased from the market earlier that day. Coincidentally baked and cut into a round shape, now a perfect ironic offering to a newly-minted spirit.

Zuko slumped in front of the windowsill. He had rage and anger in multitudes, still boiling under the surface, but this was all he could do for her. He fixed his eyes on the moon, taking in her shadow, and whispered a prayer. Hoping that, as a spirit, she could somehow hear him.

He hoped she wouldn't be lonely up there.

**Author's Note:**

> In some versions of the myth, the warrior then seeks out a different spirit, and also ascends to immortality, taking residence in the Sun. On Mid-Autumn, when the moon is at its brightest, he and his wife are reunited in the sky. I like to think Zuko would figure it out :)


End file.
